


history written on the body

by blackkat



Series: Crossover and Fusion Drabbles [4]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Young Avengers (Comics)
Genre: Blood and Violence, First Meetings, Gen, Humor, Light Angst, mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 10:58:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16135817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: In retrospect, Tommy probably should have listened to Billy and not used the last of America’s coffee.





	history written on the body

In retrospect, Tommy probably should have listened to Billy and not used the last of America’s coffee.

In retro-retrospect, though, listening to Billy is for _pansies_ (or Teddy, because even Tommy can't really call Teddy a pansy with a straight face) and Tommy might have been kicked through three dimensions and into an entirely unfamiliar one, but at least he’s not bored.

In this case, _not bored_ takes the shape of a huge, hulking guy with white hair and an apparent axe to grind, because there's a dead body sort of exploded over his feet and a lot of blood on his hand. Tommy stares at him for a long moment (well, long for a speedster), and the guy stares back, still as stone. _Boring_ , Tommy thinks, and climbs to his feet. No suit, but that’s fine—the odds of a random murderer in a different dimension ratting Tommy out is pretty slim. David could probably tell him the exact odds, not that Tommy is going to _ask_.

“Whoa, dude, that’s a lot of blood,” he says, and the big guy takes a step forward. “Oh, hey, right through the blood, that’s special. Haven’t you ever watched CSI? I'm pretty sure bloody footprints aren’t the way to get away with a crime—”

“You have white hair,” the man says, in a peculiar tone of voice. Kate sometimes uses that tone of voice when Tommy does something she thinks is particularly clever, even when she doesn’t want to admit it. Or when he’s done something particularly dumb. With Kate it’s sometimes hard to tell.

“Uh, yeah. Congrats on having eyes?” Tommy offers, flicks another glance at the body, judges the space between him and the murderer. Enough to knock him off his feet, even if he’s got some kind of power, probably. “Seriously, that’s a body. I've made a few in my time. Bad guys! But something about you doesn’t exactly scream ‘hero of the people’ and—”

“But you used alchemy.” It sounds like the words are ground out, and Tommy takes two skipping steps back, just to put a little more space between him and the big guy.

“Alchemy, like as in magic shit?” Tommy asks. “No, you want the other twin for that, you know, Wiccan? Terrible hair, messiah complex, glowy and floaty and—whoa!”

Big guy makes a grab for his sunglasses, and Tommy is _gone_. He speeds around the spreading pool of blood, skips up on top of a low wall and down the far end, and skids to a stop in the middle of the street.

“Okay, mister grabby, I _know_ I'm not taken at the moment but if you want a piece of this you're gonna have to get in line, and Prodigy is _definitely_ ahead of you.” Not that he’s telling David _that_ , either.

“Are you Ishvalan?” the man asks.

Tommy is _mostly_ certain that’s not a fancy word for mutant. “I—”

“How did you survive?” the big guy demands. “Are there any others here?”

Oh, damn. That’s probably not a great sign. Tommy hesitates, then reaches up, carefully pulling his sunglasses off. “Look—” he starts.

“You're a half-breed,” the man says, and that peculiar tone is back in his voice.

“Well, yeah, kind of—” Because there's no quick way to say _I'm the reincarnation of a baby created between a reality-warping witch and the android she married_ , at least not at speeds most people will understand.

“You’ll be in danger here,” the man says darkly. He glances back at the body, more like assessment than regret, and turns. “Come.”

Damn it. Tommy stares after his retreating back, glances at the victim, and wishes really, really hard that America will kick her way into this dimension in the next few seconds, even if it’s unlikely. Tommy left her with _decaf_. He’s probably going to be here a while.

“I don’t even know your _name_ ,” he calls after the man.

The big guy pauses, almost flinches. Turns halfway, looking at Tommy for a moment, and then says flatly, “They call me Scar.”

Right. Probably because of that big honking scar on his face. Tommy skips forward, slides down next to Scar and says, “Call you, right, secret identity, so—”

“I abandoned my name,” Scar says, like it means everything.

Tommy glances at him, takes in the hard lines of his face, thinks of that order to follow. An attempt to get him out of here, because Scar thinks he’s in danger. “I'm Tommy,” he says, instead of any of the dozen things crowding his tongue. “That guy back there…”

For a long second, Scar doesn’t answer. Then, slowly, he breathes out. “He was a State Alchemist,” he says. “He was on the front lines of the war.”

Bad war, that tone means. Though Tommy supposes all of them are bad. There hasn’t been a good war yet. “And you were on the other side,” he guesses.

Scar doesn’t answer, and really, that’s answer enough.


End file.
